


The Gravity of Desire

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1779, Angst, Forbidden Love, M/M, Romance, Spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: In early March 1779, Hamilton and Laurens are forced to make camp on their way back to headquarters due to a sudden rainstorm. Desire has a way of making the most reckless actions seem reasonable in the moment.





	The Gravity of Desire

**March 1779**

The ominous storm clouds had been gathering overhead for a while when Laurens felt the first raindrops hit his face. Hamilton slowed his horse to ride aside him, and suggested, “I think we should make camp. We’re hours away from headquarters still, and I’d rather not ride through the storm.”

Laurens nodded. Alone, he’d have risked the ride back to headquarters, but with Hamilton’s delicate constitution to consider, he knew making camp was the proper course. The reconnaissance mission they’d just completed hadn’t been given a strict timeline, so they’d not be missed for one more night anyway. “Keep an eye out for a sheltered spot, and we’ll pitch the tent for the night.”

Hamilton smiled sweetly, then urged his horse on to take the lead again.

The few drops had turned to a steady patter as they rode past a clump of evergreens and red oaks that had just begun to bud at the far edge of a field. Far from perfect, he thought, but they were running out of time before the storm hit in earnest, and the trees would at least give them some meager protection from the weather. A sudden gust of wind blew rain in his face and nearly stole his hat as he spurred his horse onwards to catch up to Hamilton.

He tapped Hamilton on the arm to get his attention and pointed to the cluster of trees. “What about there?”

Hamilton turned his head towards the spot and shrugged. “It’ll have to do,” he agreed.

They turned off the road into the field, towards the secluded tree-line.

Laurens noticed a shallow creek running through the grove as they dismounted. He helped Hamilton pull their gear free from their saddles, and led the horses to the water while Hamilton started to unpack the tent. Laurens strung some blankets over the horses to keep them as dry and safe as possible in the circumstances, and then joined Hamilton in setting up their tent.

Their motions were rapid and well-practiced, but the wind was against them and the rain began pouring down before they finished. They were both soaked and shivering as they finally tossed their baggage inside and rolled the remaining blankets out on the tent floor.

“Well, that was fun,” Hamilton commented, his grin audible in his voice.

“Delightful,” Laurens agreed sarcastically.

Hamilton sniffled and wiped a hand over his drenched face. “Come on. We should change out of these wet clothes, or we’ll catch cold.”

The soft shuffle of clothes being removed joined the sound of the rain pattering against the canvas as they turned to change into dry clothes. Or _dryer_ , Laurens amended, as he pulled open his kit to find his spare shirt had grown damp in the drenching rain. He glanced back to see Hamilton pull a shirt down over his chest, not bothering to tuck it into his buff breeches, and then bend down to gather the soaked uniform on the floor. Staring for a moment longer, Laurens turned back to arrange his own clothes.

Hamilton had plopped down cross-legged on his blanket when Laurens turned around again. His hair was wet, and a few strands that had come free of his queue were stuck to his face. He sniffled again, but smiled. “What should we do?”

Laurens glanced down at Hamilton’s chest, where his white shirt was clinging to his damp body in places. His cheeks went hot, and he forced his eyes back to Hamilton’s face. “I have some cards in my bag.”

Hamilton’s smile turned to a smirk as he stretched his legs out on the blanket and leaned back on his forearms. His feet and calves were bare. “I don’t feel like playing cards,” he refused.

Laurens cleared his throat and suggested, “I think I brought a book of poetry along. I could read some to you, if it’s survived the rain.”

Hamilton shook his head slowly.

“Well, what do you want to do, then?”

Hamilton pushed himself up from the ground with ease and took a step towards him. Laurens found himself taking a step forward as well. Hamilton had a talent of drawing people towards him like gravity. Or, perhaps not like gravity, Lauren reconsidered as Hamilton drew him closer still; perhaps Hamilton was a force of nature all to himself.

They were close, face to face, when Laurens felt Hamilton lean in. His eyes fluttered shut and his lips puckered on instinct, but at the last second his rational mind overcame his desire. He shied away. “Ham,” he admonished lightly. “You know we can’t.”

Usually Hamilton would huff and pout like a disappointed child at this point in the interaction, but he’d always pulled back before. They’d come close so many times—too many times. This time, though, Hamilton set his jaw and leaned in again.

“We can,” Hamilton argued, voice low. “It’s just us here.”

Laurens placed his hand on Hamilton’s chest to keep him from leaning any closer. His chest was firm and warm, and Laurens could feel the faint thrum of Hamilton’s heartbeat beneath his palm. Touching him had been a tactical error, he realized belatedly. It made him ache to touch him more.

“Ham,” he whispered, almost pleading. What he was pleading for, he didn’t exactly know.

“We’re alone, Jack. Just us. There’s no one to see.” Hamilton’s voice was so soft, so reasonable. He leaned close to Laurens’s ear. “If you want me, you can have me.”

If he wanted him? God help him, he wanted him so badly that some nights he had to bite his pillow to keep from screaming in frustration. He wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to hold him close and never let go. But complacency was dangerous. Desire could make the most reckless actions seem reasonable in the moment.

No matter how badly he wanted to give in, he loved him too much to risk Hamilton’s life for a moment of passion. That love gave him the strength to step back, away from Hamilton’s pull. “We can’t, Hammy.”

“Jack—”

He placed the pad of his forefinger to Hamilton’s soft lips to hush him. “Even if we could safely steal a moment in here, what good would that do? I’ll just want you even more. And then what? We keep stealing little moments, until we’re caught and hanged? The world will never let us be together.”

Hamilton’s lips puckered under his finger, kissing the pad tenderly. Laurens dragged his finger across his lips before pulling his hand away. Their eyes met.

“Then I’ll just have to change the world,” Hamilton replied.

Laurens laughed fondly. He’d said it with such easy conviction, like he really thought it was possible. “You can’t change the world by yourself, Ham.”

“Have a little faith,” Hamilton smirked, inching closer again. “And, anyway, I’m not doing it by myself. You and me, together…we’re unstoppable.”

Something about the burning intensity of Hamilton’s gaze made him pause, made him wonder just for a moment, if maybe….

 Hamilton’s hands landed on his chest, and he slid them up and around Laurens’s shoulders, to pull him into an embrace. They were so close now that Laurens could feel Hamilton’s breath, hot against his face. Laurens tipped his head down, ever so slightly, to make up the two inch difference between them. Their lips met, chastely at first, as if they both wished to relish every sensation. His whole body felt like it was tingling from even the slightest contact.

So much stood between them. So many things kept them apart. But he wanted to believe in Hamilton. He wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, the world could be different. He let his mouth open and pulled Hamilton against him, allowing the desire to overtake him.

_____

**April 1779**

Rain pattered down, tapping rhythmically against the canvas tent. The soft light of a lantern glowed on the desk nearby so that his bunkmate could see to write in the encroaching dark. The Southern climate had added a muggy quality to the spring shower, and the rain had turned the ground to mud, making their travels more difficult.

Mail from headquarters had finally caught up with them that afternoon, though, and in his stack of correspondence he’d immediately spied the unmistakable slanting handwriting of his dearest Hamilton. He’d kept the thick letter in his breast pocket all afternoon, the promise of it like a beacon of hope on the gray, difficult day. Only now did he unfold it, turning onto his side on his cot, away from his bunkmate, for a modicum of privacy. A few enclosed letters tumbled out, but he set them aside, more intent on Hamilton’s words than any forwarded correspondence.

“ _Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you_ ,” Hamilton began. Laurens felt his breath catch at the words, at the great risk Hamilton had undertaken to write them down so boldly. “ _You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me._ ”*

Steal into his affections? Artfully instilled? He scoffed internally. Hamilton had relentlessly forced his way into Laurens’s heart, despite his better judgment.

The letter continued with words of approval for his actions in Philadelphia and some of the banality from headquarters. He turned the page over and felt his heart skip a beat at the next line. “ _I anticipate by sympathy the pleasure you must feel from the sweet converse of your dearer self in the inclosed letters_.”*

He could read the betrayal that lay between the lines as easily as the inked words themselves.

His dearer self, he read again, a tightness forming at the back of his throat. For so long he’d thought there was something fundamentally wrong with him—that he was incapable of love. Martha would look at him with those big adoring eyes of hers, and he’d feel like a monster for not returning her affection, no matter how hard he tried to force himself. Her love brought him nothing but pain. In the end, he’d run away like a coward, no longer able to bear the shame.

He’d never told Hamilton. At first, it was because he didn’t want to relive the humiliation of his failure. But then, as Hamilton slowly showed him that he was more than capable of loving someone, it had been to avoid adding his dishonor to the tower of obstacles between them.

Surely Hamilton knew, though, that Hamilton alone could be called his dearer self?

The barbed contents of the rest of the letter proved otherwise. Hamilton reported that he wanted Laurens to find him a wife, and went on to torture him with the qualifications. The passage was written in a sly manner, meant to sound teasing even as it tore at him.

He shoved the pages under his pillow when he’d finished and closed his eyes. The stinging words swam in his mind even as he tried for sleep. He turned his face into his pillow to block out the light from the lantern.

Wind whipped outside the tent and the rain poured down with renewed force. The sound conjured torturous memories of another stormy night, not so long ago. Soft caresses and tender kisses in the dark while the storm raged outside, remembered sensations sure to plague his dreams tonight.

“You and me together…we’re unstoppable,” Hamilton’s voice echoed in his head.

He felt moisture prick at his eyes, but refused to unman himself with a fellow soldier so close by. He’d known from the beginning that it was a mistake, he reminded himself firmly. Giving in to his passions that night had only served to increase them. After that night, being anywhere near Hamilton, knowing he couldn’t touch him, had become a kind of torture. When Congress had again offered him a full commission as Lieutenant Colonel, no longer attached to his position as Aide de Camp to General Washington, he’d accepted it, and gone South to try to form his black regiment once more. In short, he ran away again.

He hated that he’d let himself hope. He’d known all along that they could never really be together. Why had he deluded himself into thinking this would end any other way?

No one could change the world that much.

Not even them.

**Author's Note:**

> *Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, April 1779. 
> 
> My second Lams attempt! I think it's more depressing than my first, so, sorry! I drew heavy influence from The Greatest Showman song "Rewrite the Stars" for this. I know I'm hardly the first person to make the connection, but the song feels like it speaks to the Lams relationship so beautifully. 
> 
> As a more historical note, I'll add that by the end of March 1779, Laurens was heading off for South Carolina, and he and Hamilton exchanged correspondence I'd say that bordered on dangerous for their day. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! As always, I very, very much appreciate any and all feedback!


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